Krystal’s Point Of View
We didn’t speak on the way back. The silence between Colt and me wasn’t the strained kind, not the aftermath of a fight. It was something more dangerous. It was thinking silence. The kind that builds.
I sat in the passenger seat of the black SUV, staring out at the snow-laced city blurring past us, each glowing streetlamp a pulse of heat in a frozen world. My fingers twitched in my lap, aching for something to hold, something to break. Roderick’s offer had landed like a blade between us—not fatal, not yet, but sharp enough to bleed.
Colt was composed. Too composed. His hands gripped the steering wheel like it held back a flood. His jaw was tight, knuckles white. I could feel him calculating, processing, analyzing every word Roderick said like a chess board spraw
